The Sleep of Innocents
by melarocco
Summary: Slash -ToddKurt- Written for Challenge 9 on toddkurtslash. In the middle of the night, Todd reflects on the events that changed his life. Warning: Contains references to self-harming.


Disclaimer: The characters belong to Marvel, the WB and whoever else is lucky enough to own a piece of them.

Sleep of Innocents by Melarocco 

Just over two days. He frowned, trying to work it out.

"Twenty four... thirty... forty eight..."

Fifty hours. Three thousand minutes. Uh... a really big number of seconds. That was how long it had been since he had last slept. And it had been two days he would never forget.

He had woken up early on Friday morning feeling glad to be alive, looking forward to what the day would bring, with no idea that he would not sleep again until early Sunday morning. Happiness was a feeling he was still a little uncomfortable with after so long coping with the exact opposite, but he knew exactly who to thank, or blame, for this new state of affairs. It wasn't difficult to pinpoint the exact moment his life had changed, although he had tried not to think about it too much as the circumstances were rather less than enjoyable.

'Rather less than enjoyable?' he thought to himself. 'Get a grip, yo, you're startin' to sound like him!'

With that thought he looked down to the figure sprawled on his bed, sheets barely pulled up high enough to maintain a semblance of modesty. His eyes lingered, drifting over the lean, strong muscles as they shifted in sleep. The movement brought the sleeping figure's tail into view, out from under the covers, and it twitched gently as the boy dreamed.

Todd was hypnotised by the soft thrashing of his lover's extra appendage, blushed as he remembered what it had been doing to him earlier that night. He sighed happily, crouching beside the bed and gazing at Kurt's handsome face, achingly reluctant to turn away, knowing what he would have to face when he did.

Although it had taken him some time, he had finally worked out exactly what had been keeping him up all this time, and after the events of that night he knew it was time – long past time – to do something about it. With that thought he turned, knelt in front of his chest of drawers and pulled open the bottom drawer. With trembling hands he carefully moved loose clothing out of the way, reached down to the very back and lifted out a small leather case.

It was old and cracked, not particularly well looked after in recent years. He had found it oh so many years ago just lying by the side of the road and, curious, he had picked it up and opened it just as he was doing now.

Back then the blade had been utterly blunt, and he took a little pride now as he slid open the old cutthroat razor and examined gleam of metal, shining in the moonlight pouring in through the open curtains. He had spent days sharpening it, honing it to a deadly edge, not consciously even considering what he was doing it for.

Once he had been satisfied with the edge, however, he had spent another week, taking it out and examining it every opportunity he had, still not knowing why but certain it was something he needed to do.

He could still remember the first time. He had taken it into the bathroom and knelt by the toilet, held his arm out over the bowl and laid the razor on his pale skin, must have stared at it for twenty minutes or more before finally plucking up the courage to, very lightly, drag it across, open himself up. He remembered gasping with the pain, a sharp line of fire that sent a shiver down his spine. A few drops had spilled out into the toilet bowl and he had watched the redness diffuse into the water, washing away his act.

That had been all to begin with; he had done that for weeks before taking another, further step. He still hadn't known why he was doing it, only that when he did he could forget about everything that was happening to him in the real world and just float on the pain and release. That had become even truer when he had started letting the blood flow, really flow out of the cuts he made, and he became obsessed with watching the red fluid as it splashed into the porcelain-held water, dying the toilet a pink colour. Soon his obsession turned to seeing just how much of his blood it took before the water stopped being pink, but properly red, as he wanted it to be. He had scared himself once, just once, when he had knelt for so long that he started to feel dizzy. He had immediately stopped and taken the next day off school as he was feeling ill, but a week later he did it again, just to see if he could. By that time his school life was even worse, being bullied constantly, afraid of being found out – both for being a mutant and for being gay – having to get involved in the stupid battles with the X-men when all he wanted to do was curl up and for it all to go away.

He couldn't really remember what had pushed him over the edge one day, months ago now. Something must have driven him so far he was unable to wait for the safety of his own home, for the comfort of his familiar blade, perfectly balanced in his hand. Instead he had knelt in the boy's toilet at school, taken a pair of scissors stolen from the art room and torn a jagged gash half the length of his forearm...

_The pain brought tears to his eyes. This was no well-honed blade parting his skin and flesh with ease but a barely sharp edge, unsuitable and barely adequate for the task. By that time it was too late and all he was able to do was drop the scissors and stare in horror and fascination as the blood flowed – poured – from his arm. Within a frighteningly short period of time he was getting the dizzy sensation he was coming to both loathe and long for, much faster and much stronger than ever before. _

_He was scarcely aware of someone entering the toilet, the noises registering but not being processed by his confused brain. He heard an exclamation and wondered briefly what was going on, but dismissed it as none of his concern. He was irritated, then, when a figure dropped into the cubicle beside him, and his mind was too blurred to work out how whoever it was had managed to get there. He frowned at the interruption as the figure swore in a flurry of incomprehensible words and grabbed his arm, turning it over and trying to staunch the flow of blood._

"_St'p 't yo," Todd murmured, slurring his words badly. His mind told him there was something odd about the hands holding him and he tried to focus on the face inches from his own, watching him and the blood worriedly._

"_How long have you been here?" the figure shouted, and Todd realised it was Nightcrawler, looking more scared than he had ever seen him._

"_D'no," Todd shrugged and looked away, staring at the wooden walls of the cubicle in the hope that Kurt – gorgeous Kurt – was nothing more than a figment of his imagination as he always was when they were this close, and that he would go away soon to leave Todd in peace. A tearing sound brought his attention vaguely back, and he found Kurt ripping the sleeve off his own shirt to try to bind the wound._

"_Why wn't y' le'v me 'lone?" Todd demanded feebly, trying to move away but failing miserably. He could only watch in helpless frustration as the other mutant bound the wound as best he could, stemming the flow but not stopping it completely._

"Why wn't y' jus' lemme-" Todd began, but stopped when he found a furious, trembling Kurt in his face. Todd blinked to try to bring the other boy into focus.

"Weil ich liebe dich, Sie dummer Frosch!" he hissed, checking the binding around the wound was tight one last time before standing and running into the corridor, shouting for help. Todd only had time to wonder what the hell that meant before the blackness claimed him.

Todd lifted his stare from the razor, a cold fear creeping over him at how close he had come to losing everything, of never knowing... Then again, if he had never done it, if Kurt had never found him, how different would things have been now? As soon as he had been feeling better – Lance had hovered protectively by his bedside like a worried mother, something that had both amazed and gratified Todd – he had tried to translate the words Kurt had spoken to him as he was falling unconscious. When he managed it he finally understood why the other boy had been avoiding coming to see him in the hospital. He had been kept in for observation, been to see counsellors who eventually let him out into the care of his 'family' when he managed to convince them that he was not about to try it again. He had asked Lance to bring Kurt to see him, much to the older boy's confusion.

The meeting had been awkward, Todd staring at Kurt who refused to meet his eyes. Lance had backed out of the room watching them both curiously, and when the door was closed and Todd was certain the older mutant was gone he had spoken.

"Did you mean it, yo?" he had asked, and at last Kurt had lifted his head to gaze sorrowfully at the pale, frail boy lying in the bed before him. "Did you?" Todd had insisted when Kurt made no reply and, slowly, the older boy had nodded his head.

"Every word," he had admitted quietly, and a look of surprise and wonder had appeared on his face when Todd had broken into a huge grin, holding out one hand to the blue mutant. Hesitantly, Kurt had taken it.

That had been months ago and Todd's life had changed utterly in that time. They had talked for hours that first day, and Kurt had visited him every day after that for weeks. He had not used the razor since that day in the school toilets, and had not even taken it out to look at it for two, three months. He had talked about as much as he could with Kurt, who never pressed him, always just let him talk as much as he wanted to. Last night... Todd smiled at the memory. Last night had been their first time together, Todd's first time full stop, and he was almost overwhelmed by the soft, tender, gentle lover Kurt had been, despite the blue furry boy's own obvious urgency. He knew Kurt had previous experience, though they rarely talked of Kurt's life before coming to Bayville, and he hoped he had managed to meet Kurt's own expectations. He smirked a little as he remembered some of the things his lover had shouted when he had done _that_ with his tongue. Inexperienced he might be, but never unimaginative. Glancing back down at the razor Todd very deliberately folded it closed and tucked it back into its small cracked leather case. He rose from his crouched position and held it out in both hands above his wastebasket. Parting his hands he let the case fall into the bin, taking with it all the pain and desolation of his past life.

"Goodbye," he whispered as it hit the bottom, "good riddance."

Knowing the gesture was purely symbolic, that he would have to dispose of the thing more thoroughly in the morning, he turned back to the bed nevertheless feeling much lighter than he had for years.

He blinked.

Kurt seemed to be shining, glowing. Todd tilted his head to one side and watched his beautiful companion roll over in bed, one arm reaching out to look for Todd and, on not finding him, a small, disappointed frown crept over his face.

'He looks like an angel,' Todd thought, before slapping the side of his own head with disgust. "Get a grip Tolensky, it's just the sun rising," he muttered, staring out of the window at the lightening sky. Lack of sleep was making him delirious. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd had that thought, though, the romantic side of him – usually mercilessly suppressed – was coming out more and more, and that part of him tended to think of Kurt as his guardian angel, albeit a rather furry, blue one. He looked back down at Kurt, and realised there was no need to fight the desperate longing inside him. He laid down on the bed beside his lover, gently lifted the outstretched arm and slid himself underneath it, smiling with satisfaction as Kurt sleepily mumbled something unintelligible and tightened his arm around the younger boy, pressing them closer together. Todd sighed at the comforting familiarity of Kurt's tail winding itself around one of his calves and the soft reassurance of Kurt's fur against his bare skin.

"I love you too, furry blue," he whispered into Kurt's ear, kissing the fur on his neck and then giggled as he realised that he had rhymed. He took a breath. Delirious. "Okay Todd, time to go to sleep. Oh great, now I'm talking about myself in the third person..."

Wrapped in the protective embrace of his lover, Todd Tolensky slept.


End file.
